


Smoking Ruins

by katikat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everybody Dies, Gen, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At twenty-five, Scott and Stiles just lost everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoking Ruins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XProSkeith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XProSkeith/gifts).



They stood at the edge of the smoking ruins, ash falling down around them from a slate grey sky, covering the ground an inch deep. Beacon Hills was gone, nothing more than a lifeless outline.    
  
 _"They're all gone,"_ Stiles whispered inside Scott's mind and even his mental voice sounded wretched. His real one had been gone for years now, permanently damaged in a vicious fight with the pagan goddess, who had taken human form to mete out revenge against them for shackling the ever increasing power of the Nemeton.   
  
Stiles' words found his way past the numbness that settled over Scott when he felt them die, his pack, their mental bonds winking out one by one. Only his connection to Stiles was still humming with life, as strong as ever. Everybody else...  
  
Dead. At twenty-five, he and Stiles just lost everything. Scott's parents and Stiles' dad. Deaton and Derek, Malia and even the twice-cursed Peter Hale... Stiles' wife, Lydia, and Kira to whom Scott had planned to finally propose next week, on their anniversary, the ring he bought for her melted to nothing inside the shell of their house.  
  
"Yeah," Scott croaked, gripping Stiles tighter around the waist.   
  
His best friend was leaning heavily against him, his head lolling on Scott's shoulder weakly, eyes barely open. Scott was touching bare skin, siphoning as much pain from Stiles' agony wrecked body as possible to stop him from going into shock. Stiles was barely holding it together, his body burning up, all his runic tattoos angry red slashes now, seeping blood, cut deeply into his flesh when he took in all the Nemeton's power to throw it against their enemies in a last, desperate attempt to stop them. What a hollow victory for the McCall Pack.   
  
_"We need to... get out of here,"_ Stiles said, his train of thought staticky, like a badly tuned radio. _"Someone will definitely... come to see what happened. Many someones. We need to..."_ His mental voice broke and his knees wobbled.   
  
Scott caught him quickly, throwing Stiles' arms around his neck and picking him up, one hand supporting his back, the other under his knees. "Hold on," he urged his friend quietly. Scott himself was beaten and bloody, but he was already healing. "Rest. I'll take care of everything," he promised and felt Stiles relax minutely, though their bond whited out with Stiles' pain.   
  
And he would. Because Lydia had known. Or suspected what would happen. She was like that with her uncanny visions. She made Scott prepare, hide a car far away, in the woods, with provisions, clothes... everything necessary. Just enough for two. He hadn't questioned it back then. He should have. Lydia never did anything without a reason. She had known...  
  
Scott's throat tightened and tears burned in his eyes. He blinked them away and gave the place where he had been born, his territory, one last glance before turning away and beginning the long walk, hugging the last person he had left tightly to his chest and raising small clouds of ash with each heavy step. 

The End


End file.
